


Willing & Able

by dlm



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rough Sex, SORT OF i think, Wall Sex, tagging shit like this is so cringe kmn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlm/pseuds/dlm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where Illya and Napoleon have angry wall sex. seriously. that's it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willing & Able

“You nearly got us killed,” Illya hisses.

Napoleon shrugs. “Getting killed is inevitable in our line of work. We signed up for this. You’re alive, I’m alive, it’s fine.”

“You are reckless,” Illya says, taking a step forward, and Napoleon backs away instinctively.

“Yes, yes, you’ve read my case file, well done, you. You’re a good spy, I’m not, we get it.”

If anything, Illya’s temper seems to worsen, and the tell-tale tremors in his hands start to show. Fucking fantastic, Napoleon thinks, as Illya continues to take further steps forward.

“We had our covers blown,” Illya growls, his accent thickening. “They knew what U.N.C.L.E. was by the end of the mission.”

“They’re dead now,” Napoleon points out. “Dead people don’t know what U.N.C.L.E. is.”

Apparently, that’s the wrong answer, because Illya continues to walk towards Napoleon; his chest heaving with anger. They’re close enough now that Napoleon can feel Illya exhaling hot air on him. Napoleon swallows and tries to take another step back before his back hits the wall. Illya has one hand on the wall, and he jabs Napoleon in the chest with the other.

Something akin to fear courses through him, and he holds his hands up in a display of mock-surrender. “I get it. I’ve fucked up.” He says, and takes a tentative breath with his hands still in the air.

Illya snarls and pins Napoleon’s wrists over his head against the wall. “Why are you unable to apologize for your mistakes?” It’s more of an accusation than a question, and Napoleon squirms under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“I’m sorry I fucked up,” Napoleon says, and if he’s being honest, part of him wants to see how far he can push Illya until he snaps. He looks at Illya through his eyelashes. “I promise to be good next time.”

Illya’s expression turns unreadable then, and Napoleon immediately regrets what he’s said the moment Illya’s grip tightens around his wrists.

“You need to keep your mouth shut, Cowboy.” Illya says, voice low. “You can’t make empty promises like that and expect not to be punished.”

“Or what?” Napoleon finds himself saying. “You’ll spank me?” He’d meant for it to be a joke--another way of pushing Illya’s buttons, but the heat that coils at his stomach surprises him altogether.

“It’s not a punishment if you want it,” Illya says. Napoleon doesn’t miss the way Illya’s face briefly flickers in surprise at his own words.

The atmosphere in the room has shifted, now, and Napoleon feels like he’s in a game that he didn’t know he was a part of in the first place.

Napoleon licks his lips and keeps his eyes on Illya’s. “Maybe I do want it,” he replies. “Maybe that’s what I need to be good.”

“Don’t talk shit,” Illya says, but he loosens the vice-like grip he had around Napoleon’s wrists; as if letting him know that there was a way out, if he wanted. Napoleon dimly registers the fact that Illya’s hands have stopped shaking.

Napoleon feels like he’s part of a test, somehow, like he’s almost desperate to win Illya’s approval. The thought of having to be good for Illya sparks something in him and he feels almost light-headed at the realization.

“I’m not,” Napoleon says; the honesty bleeding out into his voice shocking him, in a way.

Illya smiles; baring his teeth while hooking a leg around Napoleon’s ankle. “Get on your knees,” he fucking _purrs,_ letting go of Napoleon’s wrists and taking him by his hips to reposition them so that Illya’s against the wall, this time, with Napoleon facing him. Napoleon’s breath catches as his mind struggles to keep up. He’s always been on the receiving end, but this--

Napoleon doesn’t expect Illya to squeeze his cock through the fabric of his pants; gasping at the contact. “Fuck,” he hisses.

Illya grins, almost mocking. “Get on your knees,” he repeats, and places one hand on Napoleon’s head.

Napoleon shudders and complies, placing his hands on Illya’s thighs to steady himself. He looks up, trying to gauge Illya’s expression, and what he gets is the sight of Illya biting down on his lips, glassy-eyed. Illya still has one hand in Napoleon’s hair, and the thought of Illya grabbing his hair and _pulling_ makes Napoleon gasp and fumble to open Illya’s zip.

It’s almost a relief, in some twisted way, when Napoleon has his lips on Illya’s cock. He remembers Waverly making some off-handed remark about them getting to know one another better, but this was probably not what he had in mind, Napoleon thinks, making a fist around the base of Illya’s cock where he can’t reach with his mouth.

“You’ve done this before,” Illya says. It’s not a question, and it’s not a lie, either. Napoleon had used his sexuality to coerce information from marks more than once.

None of them had made him like this, though; needy, whimpering, wanting to be thoroughly fucked.  

The hand around his hair tightens, and Napoleon moans; the line between pleasure and pain blurring. He sucks harder and alternates between swirling his tongue around the head of Illya’s cock and taking him deeper.

“Fuck, you fucking _slut,_ ” Illya rasps, and there’s something that sounds like awe in his voice. “You’re so good at this--so good for me. You’d look so pretty with my come on your face,” he says, with a hand curling around the side of Napoleon’s face. It’s almost too much, and Napoleon reaches down to open his pants to get a hand around his cock; fisting it as he sucks Illya down.

Illya pulls Napoleon’s head back, and Napoleon’s lips slide off with an audible pop. He yanks Napoleon up and kisses him; biting down on Napoleon’s bottom lip, eliciting a broken whimper.

“I thought you wanted to come on my face,” Napoleon says, and Illya growls and grabs Napoleon’s ass, squeezing.

“Later,” Illya says, flipping the both of them so that Napoleon’s back is to the wall. Illya looms over him; predatory. “I don’t think you deserve it tonight.” He presses his lips messily against the hollow of Napoleon’s throat before biting down.

“I’ll be good, I swear, just fuck me,” Napoleon nearly _whines,_ and it’s like the floodgates are open, now. “Please, Illya, just fuck me,” he says. He feels like his ears are ringing with white noise. “I want your cock,” he says and pushes against Illya’s cock with his own, and this time, the both of them gasp as they rub against each other; chasing friction.

He’s shamelessly rutting against Illya, and for that, he’s rewarded by Illya biting kisses along his jawline. Napoleon’s mouth falls open, and Illya’s hand reaches out to cup his jaw before he slides a finger between Napoleon’s lips.

“You will be quiet for me, yes?” Illya says. Napoleon sucks obediently, and Illya hums in approval, sliding another finger in while unbuttoning Napoleon’s shirt so that he can rub at his nipple. He’s never had his nipples toyed with; as if Napoleon was just another girl Illya used to pleasure himself with.

Napoleon doesn’t understand why the idea of being _used_ by Illya causes a wave of heat to rush through him, but it does, and he arches into the touch, thrusting up into Illya’s hand. He spreads his legs just a little wider and--

“Please,” Napoleon says, around Illya’s fingers, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for at this point, but Illya seems to know, because his grip tightens and his breath turns harsher in his ear. He slides his fingers out of Napoleon’s mouth to thumb the head of Napoleon's dick with fucking _determination_ \--which would make Napoleon laugh at the best of times, but now he just gasps wetly and rubs himself on Illya almost embarrassingly.

Illya swears in Russian, and he sounds so _wrecked;_ the vowels coming off even more guttural than they already are. “Are you going to come like this, Solo?” He says, in English this time, the words rolling off his tongue thickly.

Napoleon barely manages to choke out a ‘yes’ before Illya gets his teeth into Napoleon’s neck, and Napoleon _mewls_ and wraps his legs around Illya’s, hips stuttering. He finds Illya’s lips and he bites at them and revels in the way they’ve swollen up; red and angry.

They thrust against each other a little more frantic, now, a lot more hurried, and Illya presses a finger below his balls before rubbing almost _viciously_ and Napoleon snaps his hips forward before he’s coming in hot spurts all over Illya’s half-unbuttoned pressed trousers.

He lets his head drop to Illya’s shoulder, exhaling harshly, and he feels Illya’s cock still hard against his thigh. Illya’s eyes are bright as Napoleon sucks on his own bottom lip and curls a fist around Illya’s dick, grasping at him eagerly. Illya’s breathing turns into something more ragged, and Napoleon feels nearly drunk in the sensation, his head still foggy with lust.

“I’m going to,” Illya starts and stops, voice rough, and Napoleon’s strokes speed up while he licks a stripe up Illya’s jaw. Illya groans and shakes apart at his grip, and Napoleon kisses him as he rides through it.

They both stand there, breathing heavily. Napoleon’s not exactly sure where they go from here, and the two of them stare at each other, as if trying to get the other to speak first.

Finally, Napoleon cracks. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to fuck me,” he says, as he wipes the sticky mess onto his pants, grinning.

“Maybe next time, Cowboy,” Illya replies, and there’s definitely a promise, there.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Napoleon says.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(Afterwards, Illya sends him a hand-written letter that simply reads “I’m sorry I called you slut. You are only slut to American Capitalist society,” and Napoleon throws his head back and laughs.)

**Author's Note:**

> #sorry
> 
> this was a nightmare to write. idk how ppl write like thousands of words of smut. 
> 
> ANYWAY this was written for the [kink meme](http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=400000#cmt400000) and stuff.
> 
> this wasn't proof-read properly (soz) so please feel free to point out any errors and things! 
> 
> title taken from disclosure.
> 
> (also [hmu on twitter :-)](http://twitter.com/kvryakin)


End file.
